


College Stress

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Brothers [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: And other issues, Dirk has anxiety, Gen, good parenting, my tumblr is knight-of-heart-and-art, strider family drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 20:03:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Dave's worried about Dirk; D sorts out what the problem is.





	College Stress

"D?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Can you take me over to John's?"

"I mean, yeah, but wasn't Dirk planning on driving you today?" 

When Dave doesn't answer, you look up at him and see the nervous-worried look on his face, like he's actively scared to say anything else, and immediately decide that something's probably wrong. You're guessing it's with Dirk, even if you haven't noticed anything worse than usual; Dave's more in tune with his brother than you can manage to be. 

Fuck the age gap between you and your little bros.

"Dave, you okay?" You ask him that, instead of pressing for info on Dirk. You can work that out in a second, once you're sure that the kid isn't trying to hide something major from you. 

And you do get a reluctant nod from him. " 'm okay—Dirk's just busy, he forgot and he only forgets stuff when he's _really_ busy and maybe upset and if he's upset I don't wanna make him more upset by bugging him, okay—you don't have to take me if you're busy too, I can message John and tell him—"

"Dave, calm down, alright?" The kid only relaxes a little when you grin at him and get to your feet; yeah, Dirk's having issues. If he's been taking stress out on Dave you're going to have to have a talk with him. Well, you'll have to have a talk anyway, obviously, but hopefully not about that. "I'm not busy; grab your stuff and I'll run you over there right now." 

The smile he gives you as he nods and heads for his room is cute as hell.

* * *

Texting with Dave in the car isn't a thing, not even with talk to text. On the way home after you drop him off, though? 

technicolorGladiator (TG) started pestering timaeusTestified (TT)! 

TG: yo dirk  
TG: whats up? 

TT: Not much.

TG: i mean you can say that but im gonna call bullshit kiddo  
TG: you got dave spooked again

TT: Fuck.   
TT: I'll have to apologize for whatever I said to him. I'll talk to him later, I swear.

TG: huh  
TG: so youre not even sure why hes upset then?

TT: No. I might've been preoccupied when he came in earlier, I guess...maybe he thinks I'm pissed at him. 

TG: dirk

TT: Yes?

TG: tell me about the autoresponder 

TT: It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate DS's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 90% indistinguishable from DS's native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis I basically just pulled out of my ass right now. 

TG: yeah, thought so. hey, hal.

TT: ...

timaeusTestified (TT) is now  artificialIntellect (AI)!

AI: In my defense, he's directed me to act as him until someone address me directly. 

TG: i know man  
TG: im not mad at you trust me

AI: Um. Are you angry at him, then?   
AI: Because he really doesn't deserve that. He's already pissed at himself, D. 

TG: okay  
TG: how come exactly?

AI: I don't know.   
AI: It's. Weird.   
AI: A couple years ago, right when he created me, I could accurately analyze him approximately 98.3% of the time. That number's been dropping steadily over time, in a fairly linear manner; now I can tell what he's thinking only about 60% of the time.   
AI: Less when he's in a downswing or trying to handle stress.

TG: well, fuck. guess i cant depend on your insights this tune, huh?

AI: I'm sorry. 

TG: look unless youre the one getting him all upset you dont gotta be sorry  
TG: even if you are the one fucking him up its more a matter of me sitting down to try and get you two to play nice than anything else

AI: I don't know if I'm the one who triggered the current episode.   
AI: I don't think I was. He won't talk to me, other than sending me the activation codes for auto-responder mode. And believe me, I've been trying to get him to talk this out. 

TG: i mean theres only so much you can do

AI: I'm aware.   
AI: If the project Dirk's fixated on is a new chassis for me, please smack some sense into him and remind him that I'd _much_ rather have him in a less dangerous mental state than have a body right away. 

TG: will do hal   
TG: itll be fine

AI: D, I'm a supercomputer with no need for reassurances of that sort.   
AI: ...thank you for it anyway. 

TG: no problem   
TG: talk to you in a bit

technicolorGladiator (TG) ceased pestering artificialIntellect (AI)! 

* * *

Dirk doesn't answer when you knock at his door, but he hasn't got it locked. You'd message him before you came in, on the off chance that he just has his headphones on and honestly doesn't hear, but you're pretty sure you'd just get redirected to Hal again, and the AI isn't the one you want to talk to right now. 

So you push the door open and step inside, pushing your shades up on top of your head. "Yo, Dirk."

He's sitting on the floor with his back against his bed and a his computer open on his lap, three notebooks and a variety of largish books scattered around him. His headphones are plugged into his laptop, but instead of being settled over his ears they're just hooked around his neck. 

"I'm kind of busy, D," your younger bro says without looking up at you, and you can hear the stressed note in his voice even though he's definitely trying to hide it. 

Fuck. That means he's _very_ fucked up right now; Dirk's managed to train himself into a more impenetrable form of stoicism than anybody you know. No wonder Dave's worried about him. 

Kinda sucks that you had to have the eleven-year-old be the one to point out that there is a problem, though. 

"Put it on pause, Dirk. You got plenty of time." For a second you wonder if that's a problem, if he's pushing himself for a deadline on his programming website, then discard that idea. That kind of thing doesn't fuck him up, not really. "We need to talk." 

Ouch. He can't hide that wince, can he? Or the way his amber eyes flick up to you for just a second, before he looks back at the screen. "...talk about what, exactly?" 

Dirk isn't going to make this easy, is he? 

You pull his desk chair around so you can sit down in it. "You got Dave spooked." 

"Shit. Can you, uh. Can you tell him I'm sorry? I'm not mad at him, if that's what he thinks—" 

"He thinks you're 'busy and upset.'" You sketch the quotes with your fingers even though he's not looking at you; he'll catch the motion in his peripheral vision. "I'm gonna agree with him on that. The question is, what're you busy with and upset over?" 

"I'm not upset." 

"Dirk." 

"I'm _not._ " 

" _Dirk._ " 

"I'm—" He stops. Closes his eyes for a second, letting out a slow breath and pretty obviously reconsidering his current tactics. "School." 

"We both know you graduated already—" Like, when he was fucking fifteen, two years ago. 

"College." Dirk sighs again, a little less steadily this time, running one hand through his hair and _finally_ looking up at you. "And I'm—fucking _horrible_ at this, okay, I can't even get through the goddamn application process without—fucking it up repeatedly, I can't—" 

"Hal, if you got ears in here, put that breathing exercise video up on Dirk's laptop, please?" 

The AI must be able to hear you, because even though you can't see the screen itself you can see the reflection in Dirk's eyes change noticeably. Unfortunately, now he seems to have decided to stare at you and ignore the goddamn computer. 

"I don't need that," he says. 

"Dirk, you are fucking panicking. You need to not be going over whatever the fuck it is you're trying to do—" 

"I told you, college applications—" 

"Alright, why the hell are those fucking you up so bad?" 

"They're not—" 

"You won't talk to Hal. Haven't been talking to me. Dunno if you've been avoiding Dave, but he's so fucking worried about you that it doesn't really matter why." When he bites down on his lip and looks down at his laptop just to avoid your eyes, you sigh and lean back, running a hand roughly through your hair and almost knocking your shades off your head. "Look. I'm worried too, okay? You're my lil' bro, c'mon." 

Dirk just shakes his head, shoulders hunching in a little. 

You wait. 

Goddamnit why do both your little brothers have to be this way. Dave's like this too; outlasting him is almost not an option. It's not even stubbornness, really— _patience_ is the only word for it. 

But after a good three minutes of watching Dirk stare at his laptop, his breathing gradually slowing out of the panicked, too-fast rhythm it'd been in before, he's the one who gives in. 

"I can't do it." 

"Can't do what?" 

"This!" He gestures impatiently at everything around him, one hand immediately going up to swipe at his eyes like it's a logical extension of the movement. "Fucking _college_! It—it's like fucking public school all over again, except _worse;_ I can't handle it and I _know_ I can't, D, this is my own fucking fault but I can't do _people,_ classes, I can barely deal with—with meeting people for the fucking _registration,_ I'm never going to be able to get through one fucking semester, I'll ki—I'm not going to be able to do this—" 

Fuck. He caught himself before he said that, but you heard it anyway. 

"Dirk. _Dirk,_ look at me." And he does, after a second. He's breathing fast again, face twisting up in a desperate effort to hold himself in, not betray anything to you. God, you wish he didn't have to do that. "How far into the bad shit is this pushing you?" 

"I—" A pause; a glance at the laptop as he tries to get his breathing back under control. "I'm not going to kill myself." 

"You're dodging the question here, bro." When Dirk just shakes his head, you ask, "You thinking about hurting yourself again? Doing it?" 

" _No—_ how the fuck do you know about that—" 

"C'mon, man, I know what scars from a strife look like, and you got some that don't match up. I wasn't gonna ask unless I had to; you got your therapist, she can talk you through this better'n me, but if shit's that bad I need to _know,_ alright? You're my brother, and I care about you—" 

" _Stop_." The word comes out choked, and Dirk's hands come up to cover his face at the same time as his shoulders start shaking. "Stop, fucking—I'm not cutting, is that what you want to hear? I'm not going to fuck up like that, I'm not going to risk fucking _Dave_ up like that, I can't, I fucking—" 

"Holy shit, Dirk." You slide off the chair and onto your knees next to him, taking the laptop and setting it on the floor where he'll still be able to see the screen. If this was Dave, you'd just pull him into your lap and hold him until he calmed a little, but Dirk's both too close to full-grown and too distant; the closest you can get to that is to wrap one arm around his shoulders and hope he doesn't go stiff or pull away. 

And he doesn't. 

After a second's hesitation, he leans into you, not taking his hands away from his face. "I can't do this, D." 

"College?" 

"Yeah—" 

"Dirk, take a step back here. You're seventeen and you're more successful than what, fucking everybody you know?" 

"Not you. Not Bro." 

"The guy who's in prison for the next twenty years doesn't count as successful, man. Even if he did, neither of us went to college. You know that, right?" 

"But I'm—fuck." Dirk takes a deep, shuddery breath, then lowers his hands, dropping them into his lap. "I'm. I _have_ to go to college." 

"Why?" 

"Because." 

"Dude, you're the logical one, come on. Are you gonna learn anything about the shit you're going to use—programming, robotics, whatever the fuck—that you couldn't learn somewhere that doesn't mindfuck you like this? Really?" 

You're pretty sure you know the answer—Dirk's a goddamn genius, he's the one who could teach the asshole professors something. Are there even robotics professors? 

"Goddamnit," Dirk mutters, shaking his head. 

"What?" 

"...you're right. And I'm so...so fucking _stupid._ " 

"Oh my god. Dirk?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Shut the fuck up about you being stupid. You're a fuckin' teenager; you're supposed to be stupid." 

He snorts at that, reaching over to tap a few keys on his laptop. Programs start closing. "Yeah, well. I do it spectacularly." 

"Striders always do," you tell him, and grin at the laugh he stifles. 

Okay. 

He's okay. He'll be okay. 

Thank fucking god.


End file.
